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Much Ado About the League - A Tale as Mad as a Hatter

Gragas and Jax had become bored of leading their minions against Swain and LeBlanc. The seemingly limitless supply of wine had unfortunately run out in the early stages of battle, and Gragas had to go back to the Nexus in order to pick up another one of his keg. Jax, on the other hand, wanted more of a challenge, and so he began scouting the sky. With a bit of luck he would spot the dragon and track it to its nest.

A sickly green projectile barely missed his head, followed by a chain that was aiming straight for his upper body. Jax nimbly sidestepped it, and yawned visibly. His opponents were mages, and having catchy titles did not change anything about that fact. True, their styles differed, but in the end they they relied on their spells to do the damage. And Jax was known to eat spells for breakfast and casters for lunch.

He gazed back up at the sky, while he let his battle instincts take over. Subconsciously he detected each enemy attack, and so was able to evade them all. What his subconscious was unable to detect were the frustrated faces of the Deceiver and the Master Tactician as they wasted their magical reservoirs on failed attacks.

His patience was rewarded. The dragon, oldest of all creatures and master of the skies, was soaring through its domain with an air of magnificence. Like a boat drifts through the seas, so the dragon flies through the air, Jax thought, wondering briefly how it must feel to dominate the ceiling of the world. Shouldering his lamppost, he separated from the minions and followed the dragon.

Jax had to run to keep up, although he was convinced that he knew the dragon's destination; one of the caves in the lone mountain that stood defiantly in between the river and the forest. The dragon would have the advantage of reaching its nest first, but Jax only saw that as a challenge to overcome.

He briefly paused when he was at the foot of the mountain, contemplating how to climb the colossal, natural structure. Which was completely unnecessary, seeing how a spiral staircase had been carved into the craggy surface. Jax proceeded to climb up the stairs. He was not afraid, but as the distance between himself and the ground steadily increased, he did feel uneasy.

“Let's do this,” he told himself when he could finally see the entrance to the massive cave. Wonder how many gold coins you could fit into there. He would definitely pull a Gangplank and plunder the hoard if there was one.

Fire licked the side of the mountain as it rushed out of the opening, giving Jax just enough time to throw himself down. The flame died out, leaving behind the smell of burnt clothing. The dragon had been expecting him.

With a laugh the Grandmaster charged into the cave. It was round and spacious, but not deep, allowing enough sunlight to enter for Jax to see his surroundings. Amidst the piles of gold and jewels lay the dragon, smoke still coming from its nostrils.

The humongous beast roared as its contestant leaped straight at it. Lamppost and skull connected with a sickening crunch.

The fight was far from over though. A spiked tail swung around and slammed Jax into the wall, causing the entire cave to shake. Small stones rained down on the two combatants.

Jax was seeing stars, so he relied on his instinct to dodge the tail as it pounded the ground where he had been standing. He heard the dragon suck in vast amounts of air. He knew that if he was caught in the flame, the dragon would be enjoying barbecued Jax after the fight.

He sprinted towards the dragon's belly, the one place where there were no scales protecting the beast from a direct assault. Focusing on what he thought would be the ribs, he gathered all his strength for the next blow. Empowered beyond mortal standards, he swung the lamppost upwards, then immediately rolled sideways as to evade the dragon's sharp claws.

Its lungs destroyed, the dragon's flame vanished almost instantly. And although it was still capable of defending itself, it crawled to the exit of the cave and flew away. Dragons could be greedy and territorial, but they would never fight a lost battle.

Jax sighed in relief. He had been awfully close to ending up as ash this time. Am I growing old? the Grandmaster at Arms asked himself, remembering the grey hair he had spotted two days ago. No, that couldn't be. The dragon had most likely gotten used to being beaten up with the lamppost.

Meaning that it was time for a new weapon.

He walked around the cave, pocketing a large amount of coins while looking for an object that the League would deem suitable. Settling on a fishing pole, he left his sturdy lamppost in the hoard. It wouldn't matter if he lost it, the League would retrieve it for him for the next match.

He strode out and began his descent down the staircase. Gragas should be back by now. Waiting for him. Alone. With a full keg of ale. Jax swore profoundly as he realised the Rabble Rouser would probably finish the brew by the time he got back to their camp.

***

Warwick's escape had at last been successful. At first he had believed that the golem would never stop chasing him, even after he had spat her youngsters out again. He had gone as far as donning sheep's clothing and disguising himself as a friendly hunter. He had hid in holes and he had pretended to drown. To no avail. But hours later his pursuer had finally given up.

The wolf looked around, unsure of where he was. He was on the edge of the forest, a vast meadow in front of him. He sniffed. His nose had just picked up a most unusual smell; the smell of something baking in an oven. And his ears had picked up the most out-of-place sound; the sound of gingerbread being eaten. And his eyes picked up the most peculiar sight; the sight of a house. And his stomach picked up the most fascinating of all things; the prospect of fresh food. It seemed to have been ages ago when he had swallowed the rock-hard golems (not that he had the chance to digest them).

Ignoring the small voice in his head that told him that there was no house in the Fields of Justice, Warwick ran towards the building. The smells and sounds became stronger and louder the closer he got. He reached the backside without anyone taking note of him, and lay his paws on the wall. It was real, not a figment of his imagination.

Slowly he made his way along the walls to the front door. To his astonishment, he found it to be open. The sun was high in the sky, and there were few windows, so the interior of the house was cool and dark. Warwick stood indecisively on the threshold. He could not see clearly what was going on inside, but he thought he could make out a small, fat man eating and drinking noisily.

His animal instincts had no time to alert him. A thin blade came to rest on his exposed neck, just as a muscular arm wrapped itself around his chest. The Blood Hunter tried to get out of the strong grip, but he was trapped. “You're already dead, you just haven't caught up yet.” The voice was calm, betraying no emotion.

“Wait,” Warwick yelped, causing his throat to press into the sword. “I have information!”

“Ah.” The voice did not sound impressed. Warwick did not notice that he was being pulled backwards, so subtle was the movement.

The fat man in the house got up and shuffled over to the wolf. “Yo,” he said from the shadows.

“Technically, I should be in your place,” the voice noted. The pitch and inflections were there, but it lacked a distinct tone.

“Yeah,” answered the fat man, walking out into the open and behind Warwick. Only it wasn't a man, it was an armadillo. An armordillo, to be exact. The stubby arms locked themselves around the werewolf's legs.

“Better,” came the voice from beyond the doorway. Warwick had not been aware of his other captor releasing him.

“Hey Rammus?” the Blood Hunter asked carefully. A grunt encouraged him to continue. “We're buddies, right? You and me, we've been through some pretty nasty situations together. You wouldn't hurt me, eh? I mean, you know I never bit you intentionally, it's the summoners who made me do it.” His voice was higher than normal, and became increasingly frantic. Like an animal backed into a corner. “C'mon man, we had our differences in the past, but that doesn't matter. Look, if you let me go, I owe you one, ok? You can ask me for anything. I'll even share the cookies I get from Morgana with you. Now that's a good offer, isn't it?”

“How amusing,” came the voice, directed more towards Rammus than Warwick. “But I find him unworthy.”

“You can't mean that!” Warwick would have made Pavarotti proud. “What have I ever done to you? I don't even know who you are!”

“Certainly you do.” There was something very unsettling about the constant calmness.

Warwick pleaded one more time. “Rammus, my man. You can't do this to me. You're not even a bad guy. I've never heard of armadillos harming anyone. Please.” His voice failed him on the last word, probably because going all tenor as a baritone is not the smartest thing to do.

“Ok.”

Warwick went into a state of shock as Rammus simply let go of him and stepped back. “Ok.” he repeated incredulously. “You put me through all that just to release me with an 'ok'?”

“Yeah,” said Rammus.

“Enforced equilibrium,” Shen explained, stepping into the light. “To suffer one must know peace, and to rejoice one must know pain.”

“So you weren't going to kill me in the first place?” Warwick's eye was twitching, and so was his upper lip. He stood there like a puppet without strings, his head threatening to roll of his shoulders.

Shen shook his head. Rammus walked over to the wolf and handed him a piece of gingerbread. Then he moved to stand beside the Eye of Twilight, silent. The two looked like finely crafted statues, only the faint movement of their bodies as they breathed giving away that they were alive.

“And you two are here for what? A picnic?” The Blood Hunter was close to losing it.

“Hm,” answered the Armordillo. Which could have meant virtually anything.

Sooooooo, finals are over and in the meantime I have slid down to page 4. Time for a bump in the form of a chapter.

Chapter 6

It is said that the the most beautiful sunrise can be found on the sea, when the minuscule rays of light reflect off the surface to create an ephemeral mirror of the night sky. A few fleeting moments, and the dazzling display vanishes, leaving behind only a faint memory.

“Yo ho ho and a bottle of... rum...” The song coming from the lone ship anchoring just off the seashore did not sound too happy. It bore the mark of depression, and of vast quantities of rum.

“Fifteen men on a dead man's chest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike
And cookey's throat was marked belike
It had been gripped by fingers ten
And there the lay all good dead men
Like break o'day in a boozing ken

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.”

Poor Gangplank sat on the main deck, his back against the railing. One hand held a treasure map, the other a bottle of grog. His cutlass was submerged in a barrel next to him, full of a sickly sweet smelling liquid. His coat was open, the belt having been tossed aside lazily. His hat, on the other hand, was propped up on his pistol, which in turn was stuck in one of his shoes. The shoe was, naturally, on the other side of the ship.

“Fifteen men of the whole ship's list
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Dead and be ****ed and the rest gone whist
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
The shipper lay with his nob in gore
Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shore
And the scullion he was stabbed times four
And there they lay, and the soggy skies
Dripped down in up-staring eyes
In murk sunset and foul sunrise

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.”

It was a sorry sight. Nothing remained of the proud captain, no trace left of the man who was to claim the title of the Pirate King. “Ya-ha-har,” he sobbed, clearly as drunk as a badger that had Spanish omelette for breakfast. And if you disagree, then you must have never seen a badger that had Spanish omelette.

“Yarr,” he mumbled, and it became obvious that he was in fact as drunk as an ostrich leaving the nuclear power plant after a casual round of monopoly.

“Fifteen men of 'em stiff and stark
Yo ho ho and bottle of rum
Ten of the crew had the murder mark
Yo ho - “

Gangplank was cut short by a stream of water that soaked him from head to toe and jerked him out of his stupor.

“By the hempen halter!” he sputtered, looking up just to have a wooden bucket hit him in the face. Above him, in the crow's nest, a cheeky monkey was dancing merrily. “Arr, ye bloody ape!” the pirate shouted. He crawled to his pistol and pulled the trigger, making two nice holes: one in his hat, the other in the Dead Pool. The monkey, on the other hand, was unharmed and busy making rude gestures. Gangplank angrily threw the map at it, but gravity proved once more that it is the biggest bad-donkey in the world. Seriously, no one messes with gravity. Except maybe Malzahar and Zilean.

Squeezing the wetness out of his respectable beard, the Saltwater Scourge got to his feet. His crew was on vacation, enjoying the smooth beaches of the northern part of the Blue Flame Island. That was no issue for Gangplank, though, as he had grabbed himself a new – and rather unwilling – crew member.

“Sarah!” he bellowed as he marched into her cabin. He was greeted by a gun being thrown at him.

“OUT!” exclaimed Miss Fortune, hastily holding up her clothes between herself and the intruder.

“Ye're the reason why me Roger's so jolly, ye know that?” Gangplank said with a wink, earning him a second gun flung in his direction. He wasn't sure whether it was Shock or Awe, the two looked identical to him. There was no way he would ask Miss Fortune for the right answer, though; she could keep the two apart, so she expected the rest of Runeterra do be able to do the same. And if someone could not... well, let's leave it at that.

“Watch your mouth, pirate,” she replied, turning around to casually put on her top. Like usual, Gangplank did not show any signs of being affected by the sight offered to him. Instead he continued making inappropriate remarks.

“Arr, me hearty, I enjoy workin' with ye. Wanna know why? Cause I like me women like I like me rum: original, and spicy.”

The mood changed abruptly. “What about: young and orphaned?” Miss Fortune asked in a threatening tone.

“Nay, that'd be a waste,” Gangplank answered earnestly. “No pirate would decline twice the booty. And if ye're goin' to start about me red eye again, I got that as a present from me trip to the Shadow Isles, nigh six years ago.”

The Bounty Hunter made a hmpf sound. He was telling the truth, she remembered him having a perfectly normal face when her mother was killed. And even if he hadn't, the murderer was in possession of two red eyes, not one. “So, what do we do now?”

“Swab the poop deck!” Gangplank responded. “Ye can find a bucket outside, but we're runnin' short on clean cloth.” He turned to leave.

“You're going to let me clean the dirt,” Sarah Fortune said with disbelief.

“Aye,” came the reply. “An' I'll be takin' care of that monkey.”

“Monkey?” the Bounty Hunter asked, but the captain was already gone. Muttering something about men, she walked to a wardrobe and pulled out a rugged shirt. The sound of a bullet being shot did not surprise her at all, and she added violence to her list of stereotypical masculine behaviour.

With the shirt swung across her shoulder, she strode out of her cabin. Not that she was obeying Gangplank, but she wouldn't have him think of her as just another woman who does not belong on the sea.

“Ye know where to get the water from?” Gangplank called from halfway up the main mast.

“I know what I'm doing!” Miss Fortune shouted back. She tied a rope to the bucket and lowered it into the ocean. Cleaning the deck would most likely take a good portion of the morning, thanks to Gangplank and his one-man-drinking contest the past night.

Miss Fortune looked up to see the Dead Pool's captain dangling a bundle of decaying green bandages off the lookout. She gasped. “Don't you dare let go!”

“Why, ye think the monkey's in it?”

“No, you harbour rat. Don't you recognise him?”

Gangplank fixed his gaze on the bundle in his hands. “Blast,” he agreed. He pulled it up to his eyes, and stared intently at the fabric. “Arr, ye landlubber. Have ye seen a monkey around here?”

“I thought you'd never notice me...” the bundle sobbed.

“That be no answer, mate,” The pirate pressed his face into the bandages.

“He's gone... just like all the others...” came the reply.

Miss Fortune appeared to be quite frustrated. “Will you let the poor yordle go, or do I have to come up there myself?” she called out loudly. For a moment Gangplank looked like he would have liked to give her an answer, but on a second thought he decided the ship would take too much damage in the ensuing argument. Holding on to the mummified yordle, he climbed down to the deck.

“Are you alright?” prompted Miss Fortune with motherly affection, encouraging Amumu to speak with a smile. The Cursed Mummy looked as sad as he always did.

“I woke up and I was here. And I can't remember how I got to this place.”

“Speaking of getting here, where are we?” Miss Fortune looked at Gangplank.

“Aye, good question. But me brain don't recall nothin' right now.”

“Let's go find everyone,” the little yordle suggested. He did not seem too comfortable sitting in the middle of two pirates, but he felt drawn towards the Bounty Hunter and her friendliness.

“I like ye!” proclaimed Gangplank, and in an unusual act of kindness put his own hat on Amumu's head. He was met by two pairs of surprised eyes. “We pirates offer companionship to those who be in need of it,” he explained, and nodding at Miss Fortune he added: “Ye should know that.”

Amumu spoke before Miss Fortune could respond. “I'm no pirate” he murmured, taking off the hat and letting a tear flow freely across his bandaged face. “I haven't even heard of a single pirate in my entire... existence.”

“I'd be of no use at all to the crew,” sulked Amumu. “I don't even know what pirates do...”

Gangplank laughed heartily. “Ye do not know, ey? Let me tell ye.” Clearing his throat, he burst into a song.

“Do what you want cause a pirate is free, you are a pirate!
Yar-har fiddle-dee-dee, being a pirate is all right to be!
Do what you want cause a pirate is free, you are a pirate!”

He gave the yordle a clap on the back that made the tiny fellow's knees buckle, and picked up the treasure map from the floor.

“We got us a map, to lead us to a hidden box
That's all locked up with locks, and buried deep away.
We'll dig up the box, we know it's full of precious booty
Burst open the locks, and then we'll say Horay!”

He paused, and looked expectantly at Miss Fortune. “No way,” she said sternly. “I'm not even a pirate, I'm a bounty hunter.”

“C'mon, lass! Ye'll do it for our new friend.”

Sarah sighed, causing Gangplank to grin from ear to ear. “Yar-har fiddle-dee-dee, if you love to sail the sea, you are a pirate,” she spoke more than she sang. But apparently that was enough.

“Join in, laddie!” Gangplank cheered on the mummy. And to the astonishment of Miss Fortune, Amumu really did sing this song that was completely unfamiliar to him.

“Yar-har fiddle-dee-dee, being a pirate is all right to be!
Do what you want cause a pirate is free, you are a pirate!
Arr-yarr ahoy and avast, dig in the dirt and you dig it in fast!
Hang the black flag at the end of the mast! You are a pirate!

Do what you want cause a pirate is free, you are a pirate!
Blue sky above and blue ocean below, you are a pirate!

You are a pirate!”

“That's the spirit, ye curséd mummy.” The pirate captain was beaming with pride.

“Land ho, captain!” Amumu shouted with equal enthusiasm. And if one looked closely enough, the bandages curled upwards around the edge of his mouth.

I have not yet decided on who will be the star of the next chapter, so which new champions would you like to see? I'll keep introducing them, while at the same time slowly tying their story to the main plot... you'll see where this is going. Actually, you already got a glimpse of it with Warwick.

Hmm, I'll come up with something. Probably be done in roughly 24 hours. I'll do Morgana first, since she's an evil baker. And that way I can also throw in the second baker of the League. And someone who eats the baked goods. Lovely. I literally see creativity spilling out of my head right now.